


Ever Just the Same, Ever a Surprise

by emjee (MerryHeart)



Series: Nature Points the Way, So Much Left to Say [5]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: F/M, Wedding Night, more Shakespeare, my trash can is filthy in the best way, sex and Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 03:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10822554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryHeart/pseuds/emjee
Summary: It was about half past six when Belle realized that there is no way to excuse yourself from informal post-wedding tea with servants who are basically your adopted family—not to mention your father, who is your actual family—without essentially announcing, “Well, it’s been a long day, time to retire to my rooms so I can go have sex with my husband.”Also known as That Wedding Night Fanfic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note on timeframe--I subscribe to the fan theory that during the enchantment, time passes more slowly at the castle than in the real world, so Belle actually spends quite some time there getting to know the castle and its occupants. The curse is broken in "real world" June, with an engagement announced in July (I've always thought of the celebration dance at the end of the film as an engagement ball), with a wedding in mid-to-late August. This fic takes place the day after "By Any Other Name".

“ _Mesdames et messieurs_ ,” cried Lumière, “ _je vous présente le prince et la princesse d’Ardennes!”_

Belle and Adam stood at the top of the ballroom stairs, newly married, smiling at the thunderous applause that greeted them. They had stayed behind the in the castle’s chapel to sign the service register while their guests moved to the ballroom for dancing and feasting on the various delicacies Mrs. Potts had been losing sleep over for a week.

“How long do we have to stay?” Adam murmured as they descended the stairs.

Belle repressed the urge to swat him. “You’re the one who’s been waxing poetic about this reception for weeks!”

Adam grinned down at her. “I’m kidding.” She caught him glancing down the front of her bodice. “Mostly.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and found themselves engulfed by well-wishers. Maurice enveloped his daughter in a hug before shaking Adam’s hand and pulling him in for an embrace as well. “May married life make you as blissfully happy as it made me,” he whispered. His eyes were shining with tears.

Plumette rushed forward, taking Belle’s hands in her own and kissing her on both cheeks. “Oh, mademois—madame!” She caught her mistake with a laugh. “ _Félicitations_! You are the most beautiful bride the principality’s ever seen.”

“That’s only because I got married before you!” Belle laughed.

Beside them, Adam threw his arms around Lumière and thumped him on the back. “You’re next, my friend.”

“God willing and the love of my life consenting.”

If Adam’s relatives were scandalized by such familiarity with the servants, they at least had the good breeding not to show it, Adam thought. As it was, it had only invited the ones he could generally tolerate, and he outranked most of them.

“Père Robert!” Belle cried when she spotted her childhood priest.

“God bless you, my dear bookworm,” he said, putting a hand to her forehead.

“Thank you again for such a lovely ceremony,” said Adam, coming to stand behind his new wife. “And for always being so supportive of Belle.”

Père Robert smiled and inclined his head. “It is my duty as a Christian, and my pleasure as one.”

“Well, you keep your duties and your pleasures much more carefully than many Christians I know, including myself,” observed Adam. One of the first things he’d done as a recently-transfigured human had been to make his way to Villeneuve so the good father could hear his confession. It had been a lengthy one—his last one had been had been before his father died—and Adam found that he enjoyed the priest’s company and conversation. “Now,” Adam said, “if you have a moment, I’d love to discuss some of the plans for the village library.”

Belle couldn’t contain her grin as two of her favorite people launched into a lengthy discourse on which books were most important to secure copies of, and she could have stood there with them for ages if she had not spotted a familiar face out of the corner of her eye.

She squeezed Adam’s arm by way of farewell and made her way to the French doors that opened onto the balcony.

“My lady,” she murmured, dropping into a curtsy before Agathe, whom she had recently learned was Adam’s godmother. And a fairy.

Agathe gave her an amused smile. “You have manners, I see, but there’s no need for that. We’re family now.”

Suddenly Belle didn’t know what to do with her hands. She settled for clasping them in front of her, and forced herself to meet Agathe’s piercing grey gaze as she said, “I never properly thanked you for saving my father. I owe you a debt beyond what I can express.” A far corner of her mind, the one that remembered the old stories, cried out in warning against her admission of debt to a supernatural being, but the words were true, and she couldn’t take them back.

Perhaps Agathe could read minds, or perhaps she simply saw the wariness in Belle’s expression, because she smiled, truly smiled, and said, “It was my pleasure. Your father is a good man, and whatever you may think of my past actions, I protect good people.”

“I know you do,” Belle murmured. “You brought Adam back to life.”

“You did that,” said Agathe serenely. “I merely provided a bit of…oomph.” Belle’s nose wrinkled as she tried to suppress a smile at the fairy’s choice of language. Agathe regarded her with an appraising eye. “You, my dear, have a heart as wide as the ocean, and an adventurous spirit to match. I did not know your mother personally—” Belle felt her heart start to beat faster against her ribs, “but I knew her godmother and a few other fairies who were in Paris at the same time she was. By all accounts, you resemble her strikingly. In heart and spirit as much as face.”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted. “My…my mother had a fairy godmother?”

“She did, and I’ve never seen a fairy so dote on a human. She disappeared when you mother died. The grief was nearly unbearable.” Agathe reached out and gently took hold of Belle’s chin, tilting her head up. “Your gifts are entirely your own, my dear. No fairy blessed you in your cradle. But that does not mean I cannot bless you in your womanhood. Your days will be healthy and long, as will those of the people you love. The love in your marriage will change—all loves do, in the end, even fairies cannot control that—but it will grow with you, and it will only get stronger.” Agathe released Belle and bent down to kiss her forehead. “Now, I believe I must have one of those delightful-looking _choux_ , and then I shall be off.”

“Do you need a place to stay?” Belle asked. “Surely you can’t still be living—”

“In the woods?” Agathe chuckled. “It has its charms, especially now that I don’t have to be quite so inconspicuous. Don’t worry about me, my dear. I’m a fairy. It’s my job to worry about you.”

She departed breezily, practically gliding towards the tables of food.

 _Food_ …

Belle had been greeting guests for nearly an hour and hadn’t managed to get a plate of food yet. Adam had insisted on strolling hors d’oeurves, (“It’s more cost effective and less time consuming and it will make it easier to kick everybody out come the afternoon.”), and breakfast had been hours ago. Belle squared her shoulders and prepared to brave the crowd in pursuit of some cheese and charcuterie, but before she could get very far someone cleared their throat beside her.

She turned to find Mrs. Potts.

“Congratulations, my dear,” she beamed, holding out a plate piled with food.

Belle blinked. “How do you always know exactly what—you know, never mind,” she said, accepting the plate and feeling rather self-conscious about the prospect of stuffing her face in company. Normally she wouldn’t care, but there were so many people there and she had a feeling that devouring a cream puff in two bites was probably highly indecorous. She was so hungry, however, that decorum had gone clear out the window.

“Excuse me,” she told Mrs. Potts, and began to skirt around the edge of the crowd, hoping she would go unnoticed despite the exquisite blue dress Plumette and Madame de Garderobe had designed for her. To Madame de Garderobe’s everlasting chagrin, Belle absolutely refused to wear boned petticoats or panniers, a decision she was congratulating herself on, as it made slipping through a crowd much easier.

Having successfully run the gauntlet of chatting guests, most of whom were also distracted by food, Belle ducked into a curtained alcove to enjoy her small luncheon in peace. She still didn’t entirely understand the _point_ of alcoves, unless the castle’s architects had anticipated a hungry bride who really just needed to eat her cream puffs in peace. She was grateful nonetheless.

The brie and prosciutto rapidly disappeared, followed by the assorted berries and bread and butter. Belle was licking sugar off her fingers from the last of the cream puffs when a hand swept the curtain aside. The rest of Adam followed. He whipped the curtain closed behind him and pressed himself against wall opposite Belle, whose fingers were still in her mouth.

They stared at each other, speechless for long moments, as Belle slowly sucked the last of the sugar from her fingertips. Adam grabbed hold of her hand as she lowered it, meeting her gaze as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

God, his eyes were so _blue_ …

She took his hand and pulled him forward, and then her lips were on his, excited and needy as he pressed her against the wall. The hand that wasn’t holding her now-empty plate came to rest at the back of his neck.

“Belle,” he breathed when they came up for air.

“We’re _married_ ,” she replied, a huge smile spreading across her face. “Adam, we’re _married_.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement, “I was there!”

She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him down for another kiss, slower than the first, but deeper, a kiss that ignited that warmth inside her that she couldn’t wait to explore further. Adam kissed a trail from her mouth to her neck, murmuring sweet nothings as he went. “My brilliant…clever…headstrong…beautiful… _wife_.”

She felt the scrape of his teeth as one of his hands moved shamelessly to the swell of her breasts. Dimly, she became aware of the orchestra tuning beyond the curtain. How was it possible the rest of the world still existed when Adam was so warm, and so close?

“I thought—” She broke off with a gasp as Adam sucked at her neck. “I thought we were supposed to wait until _after_ the dancing to consummate things.”

Adam broke away and flung himself against the wall with a groan. “Why must you always be the voice of reason?” he asked, running a hand over his face.

“I wish I didn’t have to be, believe me,” she said, “but the dancing can’t exactly start without us.”

“So the sooner we dance, the sooner we can make everyone leave.”

“Now, see, sometimes _you_ get to be the voice of reason.”

 

The dancing served as a marvelous distraction, it turned out. Belle spent most of it partnered with Adam, of course, but made sure to take a few turns with her father, and even partnered Lumière for the bourrée. After the dance concluded, Lumière bowed and excused himself to join a few young men from the village who were drinking at the edge of the dance floor. Upon Lumière’s arrival, the five of them bent their heads together in a manner Belle found entirely too suspicious to be allowed.

“Alright, my love?” ask Adam, who had just taken his leave of Plumette.

“I believe so,” Belle replied, not taking her eyes off Lumière and his troupe.

“Are you sure? You have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The _someone-is-up-to-something-I-don’t-know-about-but-it’s-not-going-to-stay-that-way-for-long_ look.”

“Is that really an expression I make often enough for you to recognize it?”

“My darling,” he said, caressing her cheek, “my goal in life is to look at your face so much that I learn all your expressions.”

“You sap.”

“I’ve admitted that I enjoy romances, haven’t I? You went into this with your eyes wide open. Now, shall I go warn Lumière that he appears to have roused your ire?”

“He has not roused my ire, yet, and you may not warn him. But you may watch, if you like.”

“Watch what—wait for me!”

He trailed after her as she strode confidently over to the knot of young men, ale tankards in hand.

“Lumière,” she beckoned, her voice the epitome of manners and grace.

“ _Oui_ , _ma princesse_ ,” he answered, taking a few steps toward her.

She leaned in confidentially, her voice dropping, her demure smile never wavering. “If you give me a charivari, I will personally see to it that Chapeau accompanies our retinue—which will include Plumette—on our honeymoon travels, while you stay at home with Cogsworth, who I will also put in charge of planning fêtes for the next year.”

Lumière’s cheerful expression remained miraculously intact, likely as a result of his years of excellent training, but Belle thought she saw a bit of color drain from his face. It was difficult to tell with all the powder.

“But of course, _madame_. Your wish is ever my command.”

Belle’s smile became more natural as she rolled her eyes. “There’s no need for that, my friend.”

“Just as there is no need for a charivari.”

“As usual, we understand each other perfectly.” She turned to Adam. “I believe they’re about to play the last minuet, husband. Will you join me?”

“I’d be delighted.”

They made their way to the center of the ballroom, the floor filling with couples as the orchestra found a last burst of energy for the final dance.

“I do like it when you call me ‘husband’,” Adam said.

“Good, because I’m going to be doing it a lot over the next few days.”

“That’s not the only thing you’re going to be doing.” A year ago, Belle would never had believed that an eyebrow could be raised lasciviously, but a year ago, Belle had not known Jean-Mathieu-Yvain-François-Adam de Thibault. Her opinion had since been revised.

“Could you not talk about that here?” she hissed. “When there are so many people around?”

“I’m sorry, you’re the one who insisted on doing incredibly carnal things on my throne yesterday, so I didn’t realize you’d be particularly squeamish.”

“I’m not squeamish,” Belle whispered, “I just have an overwhelming desire to drag you away and do unspeakable things to you, and the fact that we’re in public is doing little to suppress the urge.”

God, they were going to have to sit up on that dais in a few moments, Adam in the chair where she had brought him to completion yesterday. The guests would make their official bows to the newly married _prince_ and _princesse_ , and then they’d be on their way.

And then other activities would begin.

Belle grew restless just thinking about it.

“What’s a charivari?” Adam asked as they circled each other.

“You, a genuine former hellion, are unfamiliar with the ridiculous custom of the charivari?”

“Yes, yes, it would appear this is one area in which my knowledge of troublemaking is lacking. Given the threats you gave Lumière—that was a thing of both beauty and terror, by the way—it’s probably for the best that I was ignorant of the custom in my youth.”

“Charivaris are a ridiculous custom in which wedding guests wait around until they’re sure the couple has gone upstairs to…make things official…and then they sing bawdy songs and pound on pots and pans and make a general ruckus and make a spectacle of something natural and lovely.”

“That sounds like something I would have delighted in.”

“From what I hear, you used to be something of an ass.”

“You have heard correctly.”

Belle curtsied as the orchestra stuck the final chords of the dance. When she rose, Adam proffered his arm and lead her to the twin thrones that sat on the dais. Normally, he had explained when they were planning the reception, this would take place at the beginning of things, and they would remain seated for the better part of the morning as people approached them to offer well-wishes. Neither Belle nor Adam had been interested in sitting still and being so highly elevated, preferring instead to mingle with the people they ruled and cared for.

They turned to face their guests, who had assembled in one great mass in the center of the ballroom. As one, their family and friends curtsied and bowed, then cried, “God save your Graces!” The couple inclined their heads in thanks before taking their seats in their respective chairs of state.

The guests gave them a round of applause even more thunderous than the one they had been treated to earlier. Adam reached for Belle’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

 _This is it_ , she thought. _Here sits the girl who said she wasn’t a princess_.

Madame de Garderobe had reminded her of that day as she helped her get dressed before the wedding.

“I might have been furniture at the time,” she had said, lacing Belle’s stays firmly, “but I remember it, clear as the sun, how your nose wrinkled when you told me, ‘Oh, I am not a princess.’ Yet here you are, my dear one.”

“She’s still not one yet,” Plumette had remarked, handing Belle her second petticoat. “And even when she is, she’ll still be our Belle, bright and thoughtful and kind.”

“And odd,” Belle added as Plumette stepped behind her to secure the skirt.

“In the very best way,” her friend agreed.

She felt Adam squeeze her hand again and looked over at him. “My Belle.”

 _She’ll still be our Belle_.

Guests were beginning to take their leave. The orchestra was packing up. A few people approached the dais to make their farewells in person, including—blessedly—the entire pack of Adam’s cousins, who needed to make headway toward Paris before the sun began to set. Maurice was staying the night, Adam knew, but other than the regular household, they would be blessed with an empty castle.

He was very pleased by this.

He had plans.


	2. Chapter 2

It was about half past six when Belle realized that there is no way to excuse yourself from informal post-wedding tea with servants who are basically your adopted family—not to mention your father, who is your actual family—without essentially announcing, “Well, it’s been a long day, time to retire to my rooms so I can go have sex with my husband.”

It was nearly seven by the time she noticed that Adam appeared to have had the same realization, based on the looks he kept casting her from across the semi-circle of chairs that they’d arranged near the open balcony doors of the ballroom. He’d sat far away from her on purpose, because he was sure that if he came any closer he would just unceremoniously sweep her up and carry her upstairs, and to hell with what anyone thought of it.

No one would think any less of him, probably, and it would put them all out of their misery.

The guests had departed by four, mercifully, but the next few hours had been spent opening wedding gifts and making lists so that the thank-you letters could be properly attended to. The whole operation made one rather famished—as if getting married hadn’t been enough exertion for one day—so Mrs. Potts had made a spread out of the few wedding leftovers and various odds and ends she had in the kitchen.

The woman could make a feast out of various odds and ends.

Deciding that returning Adam’s desperate gazes was useless if he wasn’t actually going to _do_ anything, Belle opted instead to catch Plumette’s eye while Cadenza and Maurice debated the superiority of some Italian painting master over another.

“Dear me, _madame_ ,” Plumette said with an affected yawn at the next break in the conversation, “you look positively exhausted, if I may say so. And you’ve been in that dress all day. Do you find you need your stays loosened?”

“As a matter of fact, Plumette, I believe I shall simply retire for the night. If you would attend me?”

Adam sat up suddenly. He’d concocted very detailed imaginings about what it would be like to divest Belle of all her clothing, and he was not going to allow his fun to spoiled by Plumette assisting his wife with her toilette.

The glare Belle gave him made him relax against the back of his chair. _Don’t embarrass yourself. I have everything under control._

Of course she did.

 

Belle managed to keep a straight face as she and Plumette exited the ballroom, but they both dissolved into giggles as soon as the door closed behind them.

“That was the most sexual tension I’ve ever seen in my life,” laughed Plumette as they climbed the stairs, “and I spent a decade as a feather duster in love with a candelabra.”

“There has to be a better way,” said Belle with a shake of her head.

“I find sneaking around to be quite effective,” Plumette replied.

Belle’s mind flashed to memories of her in the library, skirts over her knees, and kneeling before Adam in the ballroom, his prick in her mouth. “Duly noted.”

They had reached her rooms in the East Wing—but Belle supposed they weren’t really her rooms any more. Her clothes had been moved to the boudoir in the suite adjoining Adam’s in the West Wing, although she didn’t plan on making use of the other rooms. Now that she was socially permitted to share a bed with her husband every night, she had no wish to sleep anywhere else.

“You’re not actually going to help me with my stays,” Belle said, sitting down on the bed she’d become so familiar with.

“And deprive your husband?” Plumette sat beside her. “Certainly not. We’ll just hide out here for a suitable amount of time, and then you can go to him. And we’ll see you both in a week or so.” She winked.

Belle giggled and became aware of her heart fluttering in her chest. She began to pick at her skirts, rearranging them and smoothing out wrinkles. The gorgeous blue silk was embroidered with white roses, and the cuffs and neckline were edged with lace. Plumette and Madame de Garderobe had outdone themselves, and the _modiste_ who had crafted it had worked at lightning speed.

“Are you _un peu nerveuse_ , _madame_?”

Belle realized she was fidgeting and clasped her hands to make herself stop. “A little.” She swallowed. “I mean, it’s not…it’s not the first time we’ve done certain…”  
Plumette smiled and reached for Belle’s hands. “I thought not.” Belle gave her a look that unmistakably translated to _How did you figure that out?_ “Oh, please. I knew as soon as I saw you with _L’École des Filles._ Nevermind the way you two _look_ at each other.”

“It’s just…maybe it shouldn’t feel like things will be so different, but it does.”

“They will be and they won’t be. You’re still the same people. You’ll just know each other better than you did before.”

Belle gave a small smile. The thought of knowing Adam better than she already did was a pleasing one. “Does it…hurt?” It was something she had considered, lying in bed the previous night, her last night in that bed alone. She’d read something about that in _L’École des Filles_ , but she didn’t entirely trust it. At the same time, now she knew how hard and thick Adam was, after their encounter yesterday. His fingers inside her were one thing, but that…

“I wouldn’t say it hurts, no,” Plumette soothed. “A bit uncomfortable, the first time or so, but, at the same time…it feels right.”

Belle nodded. _It feels right_ described every encounter she’d had with Adam, both chaste and otherwise. There was no reason to believe tonight would be any different.

She and Plumette continued to talk, about the wedding, the guests, the food, the gowns. Belle told her friend about how she’d threatened Lumière and Plumette laughed so hard she fell back on the bed.

The clock chimed half past seven.

“He should be upstairs by now,” Belle murmured. Knowing Adam, it was entirely possible he’d bolted three minutes after she’d left and had been sitting in his room for the past half hour.

The waiting was probably good for building his character, but she decided to have mercy on him. And on herself, honestly. She’d certainly waited long enough.

She stood and smoothed her skirts one last time. Plumette enveloped her in a hug and whispered, “There is nothing more exquisite than being adored by the one you love above all else.” And then, with a cheeky grin, “See you in a week, _princesse_.”

 

Adam jumped straight out of his chair when he heard the knock at the door.

He’d managed to wait slightly more than three minutes before making his excuses and leaving the ballroom…but that had still left him waiting for the better part of a quarter hour before his wife—God, he would never get tired of calling her that—made her appearance.

Her appearance was so characteristically… _Belle._

Instead of sweeping into his bedroom—their bedroom—which she had in fact slept in before, she poked her head around the door and said, “Hello.”

He couldn’t stop the absurd smile that spread across his face at the sight of her. “Hello yourself.” They blinked at each other. “You can come in.”

She gave her head a little shake. “Right.” She came inside and leaned against the closed door.

They’d had no trouble going at each other like adolescents earlier, but they were both holding back now, neither one sure of how to make the first move.

So they stared at each other for a long while. It had become a favorite pastime.

She was still wearing her wedding clothes, he realized. The corner of his mouth curled up. “You liar.”

She looked startled. “What?”

“Plumette didn’t loosen your stays.”

Her expression turned coy. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining your evening.”

They smirked at each other as Belle came forward and draped an arm around Adam’s neck. He stayed completely still, looking down at her with the wonder that came from contemplating the reality of the dream he thought would never come true.

After long moments, he brought his hand up to brush along the curve of her cheekbone. She saw tears brimming in his eyes.

“Belle…”

They moved toward each other at the same moment, lips crashing together, hands grabbing, holding tighter. Belle pressed her body flush against him, reveling in the fact that he was alive, and breathing, and _hers_. Adam tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue stroking against hers, and she felt a familiar dampness between her legs. He made her feel incandescent and restless. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be struck by lightning and not die.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth and felt his fingers dig into the back of her dress before he broke away with a groan.

“Too. Many. Clothes.”

Belle laughed and held her arms out at her sides. “Do what you like with me, husband.”

“While I very much like the sound of that,” said Adam as he began to undo the front of her dress, “of course I shan’t be doing anything _you_ don’t like.”

“I know that. I trust you.”

“So, for instance,” said Adam, getting on his knees as he worked his way down her bodice, “you would tell me if you didn’t like…this.” With impressive speed, he disappeared beneath her skirts and navigated the barriers of two petticoats and a chemise before pressing his mouth between her legs.

Belle clapped a hand over her mouth, but that didn’t stop a high pitched noise from escaping from the back of her throat. She felt Adam’s fingers spread her coarse curls aside before he continued to press kisses her to clit. When she felt his tongue rasp against her, she bit back a moan.

He extricated himself from her clothing a few moments later. She wanted to protest the loss of his mouth, but seemed to be having trouble remembering what order words were supposed to go in.

“Well?” asked Adam, coming to his feet.

“Well…what?”

“Did you like that?”

“I…you…that was…”

Adam laughed softly and helped Belle remove the outer layer of her gown. “Seeing as that’s the first time I believe I’ve seen you speechless, I think the word you’re looking for is ‘yes’.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Belle said, discarding her gown on a nearby chair and turning back to pull Adam in for repeated, hungry kisses. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_ , you remarkable man.”

“I’m certainly not as remarkable as my wife,” he said, voice rising slightly as Belle attacked the fastenings of his jacket. “Perhaps you’ve met her? Pretty voice, lots of freckles, she’s usually reading or sketching or doing something outside, and her hair always smells good…”

His jacket was followed by his cravat and his waistcoat, but he grabbed her wrists before she could reach for his breeches. “My turn again.”

He spun her around and pressed kisses to her neck as he undid her first petticoat, then went to work on her stays. “I will never understand how women put these on every morning and wear them for the whole day.”

“Even I would be hard pressed to explain it to you,” said Belle, “although I will tell you that growing up with only my father meant that I had to become something of a contortionist. It is not easy to tighten stays by yourself.”

Adam let out a swift exhale and lifted Belle’s stays over her head. “Darling, you simply cannot say words like ‘contortionist’ without expecting my mind to take six different paths to the gutter.”

Belle turned and pressed her hands to his chest. “I don’t care if your mind takes six paths to the gutter as long as your body makes a path to that bed.”

He dropped the stays.

Belle reached for his breeches but didn’t immediately go for the buttons. She felt him instead, stroking through the fabric and feeling him harden beneath her touch. He almost immediately returned to the frenetic state of arousal he’d been battling all day, the one he’d indulged so deliciously with his new bride in that alcove. How exciting that had been, so close to so many people, how easy it would have been for them to be caught. His mind returned to the image of Belle slowly licking sugar from her fingers and he moaned.

Wait—where had his breeches gone?

They were around his ankles, he realized, and his stockings were about to follow suit, as Belle had turned her attention to his garters. She tugged his stockings down, shamelessly enjoying running her hands over the muscles of his legs. Adam stepped out of the whole tangle and kicked it to the side, keenly aware of how his shirt was tenting. Belle, who was still on her knees—and God, what a sight that was—reached for the hem of his shirt, but he caught her hand. “Ah-ah.”

“But…like yesterday,” Belle said. “I want to.”

“And I want you to, darling, believe me,” he replied, his gaze so intense she felt immobilized by it. “But if you do this will all be over far too quickly, and we can’t have that.”

He reached for her other hand and raised her to her feet. “Over to the dresser,” he said, nudging her in its direction. “Unpin your hair while I take care of this last damn petticoat.” How had never realized exactly how inconvenient women’s clothing was?

Oh yes, he supposed he’d forgotten it sometime during the ten years of his descent into solitude and self-hatred. The one this beautiful woman had dragged him out of, practically against his will, with her stubborn head and her generous heart and her refusal to compromise about her literary tastes.

The petticoat slipped to the floor and Belle removed the final pins from her hair, the dark mass of tresses falling around her shoulders all at once. Adam buried his nose in it and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Are you smelling me?” asked Belle with a laugh.

“You smell divine,” he murmured against her head. “Even from half a mile away,”

“I didn’t realize my soap was _that_ strong.”

“It’s…” Adam cleared his throat. “It’s not. It appears there are some…lingering qualities. Small things, nothing too obtrusive. But if I want to, I can usually find where you are just by following the path of things that smell like you.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Belle teased. “I think I’m just an easy person to find. I spend half my life in the library.” She turned around and reached for the ribbon that held back his hair. “If my hair is undone, it is only fair that yours is as well, my love.” She tossed the ribbon aside and raised her head for a kiss. Adam happily obliged, and there they stood for uncounted moments, kissing each other as though they had all the time in the world.

 _Which we do_ , thought Adam, and it was a thought that made him paradoxically eager to make love to his wife _right this very minute_.

He bent down, scooped an arm beneath Belle’s knees, and swept her up, the delighted laugh she gave him making his heart unspeakably full. “Shall we to bed, my lady?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

He set her down on the bed and was about to move to lie over her when she pushed him over and sat up.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Why are we still in our shifts?”

That, Adam realized, was an excellent question. His possible answers included, _Because you make me feel like a fifteen-year-old again and I’m nervous_ , and _Your glorious existence appears to have impeded my normal cognitive function_. He might actually be able to get away with the second one.

But instead, he opted for reaching for the hem of Belle’s chemise and pulling it over her head.

He tossed the linen aside and stared.

Never. Never had he seen anything more beautiful than his naked wife, not even in his dreams. She was soft and slender, though her arms were noticeably defined from years of hauling water and tending a garden. Her breasts were round and full, her nipples rosy and peaked. He was dying to lean forward and take one in his mouth, but he figured she would expect some reciprocation where his clothing was concerned, so he grabbed the collar of his own shirt and yanked it off.

The expression on her face made the decade of beastly celibacy more than worth it.

Belle had seen shirtless men throughout her life, of course—it was impossible to live through a harvest season in Villeneuve without seeing the bare torsos of all sorts of men—but her _husband_ , who was not only shirtless, but completely nude…that was another thing entirely.

“Can I…Can I touch you?” she asked, reaching out tentatively.

The look in Adam’s eyes was electrifying. “I wish you would.”  
She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest, deciding that she would never get tired of feeling his bare skin beneath her hands, of tracing the line of hair from his chest to his navel, and from his navel…

Her hand stopped just below his waist, and Adam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Adam…”

He closed his eyes and tried to maintain a semblance of self-control. “Yes, my love?”

“Come lie on me.”

His eyes flew open at her words, so bold, so entirely like the woman he fell in love with.

In a moment, his arm was around her waist and he toppled her backward, practically drunk from the feeling of her skin against his, completely bare, so warm and sweet and _Belle_.

He lifted himself on his arms so he could look at her. She stared up at him with eyes that were neither nervous nor naïve, but the eyes of a woman who knew what she wanted.

“Make love to me, Adam.”

It took everything he had not to collapse on top of her and take her without another word. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Judging from the hardness pressing into my leg, I think I can make a fairly accurate guess.”

“You’ve been drinking your tea?” he asked.

They had discussed this a while ago—children. Belle knew she loved children, and might have her own someday, but _someday_ was not _soon_. She wanted time with Adam—she wanted years—just the two of them, especially as they had so much to adjust to.

And so she’d gone to Mrs. Potts, as one did with things such as this. “Not a problem, Poppet,” the older woman had replied. “A strong rue and pennyroyal tea will do the trick, once a day, like clockwork. I just got fresh stock from—the woman in the woods, Agathe—last week.”

 _That will definitely do the trick, then_ , Belle had thought.

“You keep it on hand?” she had asked.

“Oh yes,” injected Plumette, who had just swept into the room. “It will be so nice not to have to swallow such a bitter concoction alone.”

 Belle nodded up at Adam. “Every day for almost a month now. I am entirely yours.”

“Belle…” he breathed, one hand drifting lower and coming to rest between her legs. He began to stroke her, gently rolling her clit beneath his thumb until she was squirming and absolutely soaked.

“What are you—?” she asked as he slid a finger inside her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, “but I probably will, and I hate that. I want to make this as good for you as it possibly can be. I need to take my time.”

She reached up and framed his face with her hands. “You don’t have to worry about hurting me. I trust you, and I’ll tell you if something’s wrong.”

“Do you promise?” He slid another finger inside her and she moaned.

“I promise.”

He continued to stroke her, in and out, delighting in the small, needy noises she made. When he bent down to kiss her, he began to move his fingers apart, stretching her, making her as ready for him as he could.

It _was_ a bit uncomfortable, Belle thought, but it was better than the distracting state of need she’d found herself in for most of the day, the strange, ticklish feeling between her legs that made her feel empty—that made her want to be _filled._

“Are you ready?” Adam whispered, touching his forehead to hers. She nodded. “This is perhaps the least arousing thing I could do at this moment, but I promise it will make things…smoother.” He licked his palm and reached between his legs to stroke himself.

“I could have done that,” said Belle, her mouth twisting into a teasing pout.

“I swear you’ll have another opportunity.” She felt him fit the head of his cock against her entrance, and another wave of warmth washed through her. He brought both of his hands to rest over her shoulders, bracing himself as he began to press into her. “I love you,” he breathed, pressing soft kisses against her lips.

“I love you, too.” She bit back a small whimper as she felt a twinge between her legs.

Adam noticed. “Try to relax, darling,” he murmured against her ear. “Relax, and you’ll take me easier.”

Belle closed her eyes and tried to do as he said. She took a deep breath as she felt him shift, then let out a squeal as he worked a hand between them to stroke her clit. His mouth came to her neck, pressing a line of kisses up to her ear. Her nerves dissipated entirely as she lost herself in feeling, and she felt herself expanding to take him in.

Things were much easier after that, and he was in her entirely almost before she knew it.

She opened her eyes and stared up at Adam, into those gorgeous blue eyes. “Alright?” he asked.

“More than.”

He moaned and leaned down to give her a long, slow kiss. “I want to move. Inside you.”

“Please,” Belle breathed, “I want to feel you.”

She wanted to scream, not from pain, but from how incredible it felt as he pulled his hips away before thrusting into her again. “Adam…that’s…that’s wonderful.”

“You feel amazing,” he sighed, continuing his slow, steady rhythm. “Absolutely…divine.”

Belle reached up and caught him around the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. She tilted her hips up, allowing him to go deeper, and he broke the kiss abruptly.

“Christ in heaven, I swear you’re going to kill me.”

“Not forever. Only _une petite mort._ ”

“Not before you,” Adam insisted. “Ladies first.”

“How gallant.”

Adam brushed his nose against hers. “And what do you need, my love? To get there?”

“Talk to me. I need your voice, I love your voice.”

“ _When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state…_ ”

Shakespeare’s sonnet twenty-nine. “Good God,” she moaned, “I’m so glad I married you.”

“ _And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, and look upon myself and curse my fate…_ ”

She closed her eyes once more and his voice became the only thing in the world, aside from the tension that was building steadily inside her, coming inevitably closer to and closer to release. She began to rock her hips against his, his pelvic bone grinding into her clit, his magnificent voice blending with her small sighs and moans. She reached her hands around his back, pulling him closer to her, as close as he could possibly be, and she never wanted to let him go, never again…

“ _Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, haply I think on thee, and then my state, (like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate…_ ” They were both gasping now, Adam burying his face in her neck but somehow inexplicably remaining in complete control, thrusting into her, deep but slow.

She didn’t entirely appreciate that he was so self-disciplined when he made her absolutely forget herself, but she would deal with that later, she decided, as she gave herself up the climax that moved through her like a wave.

She stilled beneath Adam, locking her legs around his hips as she sighed his name. That was all, she thought, that was what she recognized from their previous liaisons, but then her hips ground against him again, almost of their own volition, and her climax continued.

Good Lord, how did married people ever bring themselves to leave bed?

Adam shuddered above her, his own climax brought on by the way she clenched around him. He gave a few faster, shorter thrusts, and then she felt the way his own muscles moved against her as he spent inside her.

He allowed himself to collapse against her and she welcomed the weight, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair as they both caught their breath.

“ _For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings_ ,” he gasped, “ _that I scorn to change my state with kings_.”

“Is it always that good?” asked Belle. “Or was that just because of the Shakespeare?”

Exhausted as he was, Adam found the strength to reach out for a pillow and swing it at her face.

“Sex in and of itself is not always that good, minx, but with you I can’t imagine it could be anything but.”

He gathered her into his arms and dropped a kiss to the back of her head. “How are you?”

“Incandescently happy.”

“Sore?”

“Only a little.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Adam…” She reached up to caress his face. “You don’t have to apologize. I can’t even find the words for…for…” _For my joy, my delight, the pounding of my heart. For the height and depth and breadth of my love for you._ “You make me feel like stars. If that makes any sense.”

“It does, somehow. _Ma belle étoile_.”

They held each other in silence, for a  while, relishing the warmth of each other’s skin and the pulse of each other’s breathing.

“Adam?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Where are my roses?” Adam cocked his head. “My roses. Weeks ago, in the library, you promised me fine linens, and roses. The linens certainly pass muster, but I am notably devoid of flowers.”

“Damn me,” Adam laughed, running a hand over his face. “I knew I’d forgotten something. I can ring Lumière to bring some,” he teased, “or, better yet, I can run down to the gardens and cut some myself. Clothing will not be necessary, of course.”

Belle’s peal of laughter went straight to his heart. “I think I can wait til morning.”

“Til morning? But I hadn’t planned to let you leave this room for several days at least.”

“You could always come with me. I’m sure the grass is passably soft, in gardens as well-kept as yours.”

The thought of making love to her outdoors, drenched in sunlight, surrounded by the smell of dirt and roses, was an utterly delicious one. He felt a stirring in his groin.

“There’s another way you could make it up to me,” said Belle.

“What’s that?”

“That same day, in the library, you promised we…that we could…you said you’d take me hard.”

A _definite_ stirring in his groin. “Are you sure? You’re not too…tender?”

She pressed her body flush against his. How was he ready again this soon?

“You’ve clearly demonstrated your skill at lovemaking,” Belle cooed, apparently having decided to go with the _shameless ego-stroking_ approach. “And now, I want you to…fuck me.”

“Fuck you?”

“Yes, please.”

 _Fuck me. Yes, please_. Both phrases somehow seemed equally filthy.

A month ago, perhaps, he would have argued. Belle deserved passion and ardor, not base rutting, and yet…she had asked for it, and he had come to realize, over the past few months of living as a human in the same castle as her, that ardor and animal urges were not mutually exclusive.

“As you wish,” he said with a growl as he rolled her under him. “Same rules apply.”

“If I don’t like something, I’ll say,” Belle assured him. “But don’t hold your breath. I want to see you lose yourself completely.”

That wasn’t going to be hard, he thought, as he lowered his mouth to Belle’s neck and sucked bruises into her skin. He pinned one of her wrists to the bed as began to grind against her, the head of his cock just teasing the folds of her entrance.

“Mmm, already so wet for me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.  “You know exactly what you want, don’t you? Clever girl. So damn attractive.”

He raised his head to look at her and found her mouth curled in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Delicious minx,” he chuckled as he began to thrust inside her, far less gentle than he had been before.

“You’d best believe it,” Belle said, her one free hand returning to his back.

“No,” he growled, reaching to bat her arm away and moving both of her hands to the headboard. He covered them with one of his own, and gazed down at the way her position raised her breasts up to him. He pressed his mouth to one, sucking and rolling her nipple between his lips before scraping it gently with his teeth.

“Good God, Adam,” she gasped. “Oh, fuck me.”

He raised his head. “Doing my best, darling.”

There were no more words then, as he began to pump his hips harder, faster, moving in and out of her and rocking against her at just the right angle, his hand closing even tighter around her wrists. The only sounds were their gasps and moans, and the sigh Belle gave as Adam released her wrists to draw her thighs up around his hips before bracing his hands against the headboard.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, and his kiss was just as insistent as the movement of his cock inside her, somehow equally commanding and vulnerable.

They needed each other desperately.

Her hands were at his back again, and she felt her nails digging into his skin. She came with a cry, surprised by the timing and the strength of her climax. He followed shortly after, the movement of his final thrusts both filthy and divine.

He was dead weight on top of her, entirely spent, and she loved it.

“Satisfied, sweetheart?” he asked when he finally rolled off of her.

“More than,” she replied. “Although I expect I’ll find myself wanting again in the morning.”

“That is usually how these things work,” he said, sitting up and reaching for a towel from the wash basin stand. He heard Belle giggle as he cleaned himself off. “What is it?”

He turned to find her running her hand over the headboard. “You appear to have…left a few marks, other than the ones that will likely appear on my neck tomorrow.”

He came next to her and leaned in to inspect the headboard. “Oh, hell.” There was a series of gouge marks impressively deep for someone who didn’t have claws…anymore.

“Have fun explaining that to Cogsworth.”

“Plumette’s the one who dusts in here.”

“But Cogsworth is in charge of furniture replacement.”

“I didn’t realize this was the only time you would want me to fuck you so hard I left scratches on the woodwork.”

“Never mind, then, you needn’t mention it to a soul.”

 

They returned to regular society a week later. “Master,” said Lumière as he prepared the curling tongs for Adam’s first day back in public.

“Lumière, we practically grew up together. How many times do I have to ask you to call me Adam?”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

“Ah, some of it’s my fault, I suppose. You were saying?”

“It’s nothing, only I noticed when I went into your room to collect your laundry that some wild animal appears to have gotten ahold of your headboard.” Lumière laughed and pulled Adam’s hair back as his entire face flushed red. “And what’s this? These red marks on the side of your neck, _monsieur_. Was I careless with the curling tongs the day of the wedding?”

Adam glared at him in the mirror. “Not unless you were equally careless with yourself, judging by the state of your own skin.”

“Touché, my friend, touché.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Haley (@dereksprettyboy on tumblr, @derekmorgan on AO3) for her NSFW headcanons, some of which were an influence on this fic.


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